Fear Can Turn to Love
by Marish
Summary: Christine learns to see the man behind the monster... but he is no ordinary man. Twisted yet vulnerable, passionate yet inscrutable-he takes Christine beyond the point of no return.
1. Fear Can  Turn to Love

Author's Note 1: I've always thought of this scene in the movie as a pivotal moment in the Christine/Phantom relationship. When Christine gives back the mask (in the movie), she is essentially admitting that she can't accept the Phantom for who he is.

Author's Note 2: A million thanks to my beta, MadameGiry25! I could never have done it without you. You provided brilliant insight, critique, patience, and support.

**Fear Can Turn to Love**

_And do I dream again? For now I find, The Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind._ Strains of ghostly music wound like ribbons through my dreams, and I sensed a mysterious presence nearby. Reluctantly, I allowed myself to be pulled from the depths of slumber, relinquishing thoughts of swirling mist and darkness. I opened my eyes, expecting to see the familiar ballet dormitories, but the dream didn't end. I gazed at my candlelit surroundings-a dark cavern, a swan-shaped bed draped with red velvet, a veil of black gossamer-as unearthly music continued to echo around me.

As I stepped out of my sleeping chamber, I caught sight of the masked man sitting at a pipe organ. He turned when he heard my cautious footsteps. So it hadn't all been a dream. I approached as he continued his music, ethereal, enchanting. Was he man or angel? His divine notes fused and merged like so many ripples upon a glassy lake. I slipped into a trance filled only with music and the tender smokiness of candles. As I came up behind him, I couldn't resist touching him, wanting to affirm his physical existence. I looked deep into his intense, smoldering eyes and caressed his cheek gently, feeling the roughness against my fingertips. He exhaled and closed his eyes, swelling with the glorious music. And I needed to know more. I needed to know this angel completely. My hands gently stroked his high cheekbones and traveled to the edges of his ivory mask. And as the music reached a climax, I lifted it from his face.

The music jerked to a stop. Silence knifed the air. The man clutched his face, then surged up and knocked me away all in a split second. I fell to the stone floor in surprise. "DAMN YOU!" he roared. "You little prying PANDORA! You little demon! Is this what you wanted to see?" I gasped in fear at his sudden outrage. He ripped away the cloth covering a full-length mirror and stared with vehement loathing at his reflection. Time stood still. The mirror displayed his true, distorted face. On his right cheek, the top layer of skin had been irreparably peeled away. I weakened as I saw his eye stretched open above a cheek that was pitted and scarred. Both eyes blazed, but in them, where others found evil, I suddenly realized that I saw only sadness, the viscid tar that fed his fury. He masked his deformity again with his hand and whirled on me. "CURSE YOU!" he snarled and advanced threateningly. "You little, lying Delilah- you little _viper_! Now you cannot ever be free!" I scrambled away from his untamed fury. He shoved over a tall, iron candleholder as he pivoted and stalked away from me. "Damn you! Curse you…"

His voice relinquished its harsh edge. I sat up hesitantly as he came towards me. When he began to sing again, he sounded no longer savage or feral. Instead, only self-hatred saturated his tone. "Stranger than you dreamt it. Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me, this loathsome gargoyle who burns in hell but secretly yearns for heaven. Secretly, secretly." The terrible pain in his voice wrenched my heart. "Oh, Christine," he murmured. A tear trickled down my cheek as he and sank to his knees before me. "Fear can turn to love. You'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster-this repulsive carcass-who seems a beast but secretly dreams of beauty." He rocked forward and back with emotion, both self-pity and unfathomable sadness. "Secretly, secretly. Oh, Christine."

That moment was the first I ever felt true empathy, a shared suffering, a torturous agony. I looked at this angel of music and hell, and for a moment was one with him. I knew then that only I could save him from his anguish, as only he could save me from mine. I realized that I still held his mask and held it out to him. When he reached out gently to accept it, he averted his eyes. But in his face, I saw all the guilt and hurt in the world, all the pain he had inflicted upon me reflected a hundredfold in his soul. And in his tears the plea: _Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself. If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased._

And in that moment, understanding flooded my mind. This creature of darkness had never been shown compassion, never been shown humanity. He had been shunned his whole life, hated, locked into a darkness as deep as Hell. He had never been loved.

I breathed in deeply and took a leap of faith. I opened my mind…

And I realized that I loved him, loved him in his perfection and his curse. I alone saw into the soul that he had suppressed his whole life.

I lightly touched his shoulder as he turned away to affix his mask. He paused, arm halfway to his face, as I brushed my hand up his silk collar. But still he remained turned away from me, adrift in a sea of misery and remorse. I traced his chin delicately and he stiffened. "Please," I whispered. "Please look at me." He finally, lifelessly looked into my eyes as I cradled his face in my palms, touching both disfigured and perfect sides. My cheeks colored slightly as I repeated his words, "Fear can turn to love."

He stared. I stared back earnestly. Slowly, comprehension spread across his features, bringing them back to life. Warm, mellow candlelight flickered in his eyes. His lips parted in disbelief. Then he tentatively covered my hands with his own and pressed into them with his cheekbones. Although I could see his sorrow melting away, his eyes still questioned mine. _How can you bear to look at this face?_ He reached out and trailed his fingers along my cheek, then my neck. I breathed in sharply, going hot and cold at the same time. Fear and uncertainty clouded his eyes until he realized that I was only enjoying his sensitive touch. He began to relax and believe in my words. He embraced me in his powerful arms while he hesitantly moved his face towards mine. I laid my hands against his chest and felt his steady heartbeat. Our lips moved closer and closer together. His pulse quickened along with mine. And at that moment, irrepressible longing fused our hearts. We both closed our eyes. He shivered as I surrendered to his touch and pressed my lips silently to his. Then, he held me as I weakened in his arms. His soft lips were warm, and they tasted faintly of blackcurrant wine. Chills erupted over my body as he slowly worked his lips down to my neck, nibbling at my collarbone. I stroked the back of his neck and he sighed as he returned to my lips. Then, he deepened the kiss and leaned over me. And in that moment, I utterly trusted him. I submitted to his slow advance and soon felt the stone floor against my back, soothing my feverish skin. He rested on his forearms above me and entwined his fingers in my hair. Then, he broke the kiss for a moment and gazed into my eyes. "Christine, I love you," he breathed, bending down to kiss me more intensely. I abandoned thought and let the dream descend…


	2. The Man Behind the Monster

Author's Note: A year later, and I've almost completed this story. Please forgive the long delay- I'd rather you wait once (albeit a long 'once') than wait months between each new chapter. Thank you so much to my beta, MadameGiry25, who has put up so patiently with my delays. So now, at last, the story continues...

**The Man Behind the Monster**

I nestled into the Phantom's warm chest, running my fingers lightly along the edges of his open, ruffled shirt. He held me close to him and leaned his head back against the rock wall. He had dispensed with his wig and mask, and his sand-colored hair tickled my cheek. He hummed quietly, ignoring the many candles that had burned out around us. In this world of unending night, I had no measure of how long I'd been there with him, drowsing. "Don't you get lonely down here?" I asked.

He sighed. "More than you can imagine." We sat in silence for a few moments, but my desire to alleviate his pain soon overwhelmed me. I wanted to sing away his grief; I wanted his anguish to ebb away on the tide of my voice.

"Shamed into solitude, shunned by the multitude," I sang tenderly.

"I learned to listen. In my dark, my heart heard music," he continued the song. "I longed to teach the world, rise up and reach the world. No one would listen. I alone could hear the music." His voice swelled and raw emotion poured from his soul. "Then at last, a voice in the gloom seemed to cry _I hear you_."

"I hear your fears, your torment and your tears," my voice echoed around the cavern.

"She saw my loneliness, shared in my emptiness. No one would listen. No one but her heard as the outcast hears." He brushed his fingers against my jaw line and looked intensely into my eyes. "No one would listen. No one but her heard as the outcast hears."

His voice faded away, and we sat silently for some time. Tendrils of mist swept off the lake and shrouded us in our own world. I shivered and huddled closer to him. He laughed softly.

"Christine, _mon ange_, let me get you a blanket." He kissed me softly on the forehead then eased himself up from the floor.

I gazed after the Phantom until he disappeared from view, then I surveyed my surroundings. The dark, warped beauty of the Phantom's dwelling captivated me. It was larger than I had at first thought, with numerous caverns and adjoining tunnels. Who knew where they could lead? I reluctantly stood and stretched. The lair was luxuriously cluttered, abounding with gold and deep red. Intricate ornaments decorated every open surface, sharing ledges and tabletops with innumerable pages of music. My fingers drifted along the strings of an elaborately carved harp, and its responding glissando added to the dreamlike atmosphere. My eyes fell on a full bookshelf and I wandered over to it, curious as to the Phantom's literary tastes. I didn't recognize any of the authors' names, names such as Virchow, Pasteur, Koch, Lister, and Morton. Lined up neatly on a nearby table were dusty glass vials full of various liquids. I leaned down to inspect them.

"So you found my medical library." The Phantom's voice startled me. He approached and draped a downy blanket around my shoulders, then ran a finger along the worn spines. "I've been collecting these books for years, even though I've given up hope of a cure for my…" his voice faded and he swallowed. Subconsciously, he turned the right side of his face away from me. Tears filled my eyes. I wished he could see how brilliant he was, if only to me. I looked around the room, grasping for a happier subject. The pipe organ stood nearby, seemingly inviting its master to play it. "Play me something," I said. He slowly entwined his fingers in mine and led me to the glimmering instrument. We sat together on the bench, and I picked up the closest music book. Elegantly penned on the cover was the title, _Don Juan Triumphant_.

"I compose sometimes," he said. I began to open it, but he stayed my hands firmly with his. "No. I will play you Mozart, if you like, which will only make you weep; but my Don Juan, Christine, burns." He smiled ruefully. "It has long been unfinished, but-" he stiffened. I looked at him in concern, but his mind was far away. I wanted to speak, but something about his bearing warned me not to interrupt his thoughts. "A wedding song," he murmured, almost inaudibly. "Only music born of love could quench the flames of Don Juan, could bring it perfectly to a close." I cocked my head slightly.

"Whose wedding?" Then the blood drained from my face as I realized I already knew the answer. He suddenly turned towards me, his eyes flashing with energy, looking like a man possessed.

"Ours."

I couldn't breathe or speak, and my whole body went numb. I felt dizzy, lightheaded. The sudden emotional overload overtook my body with such ferocity that I could not fight it._ He cannot possibly think… After one night… But he has never known love… And I…._ The Phantom seemed not to notice my resistance as he lurched off the seat and pulled me along by the arm. The edges of my vision began to darken and I stumbled down a small flight of stairs. _I can't say yes… But I can't deny… I love him…_ He pulled up short before a velvet curtain and tugged it out of the way, revealing- me. I stared, trying to make some sense of the sight, but my mind shied from the anomaly. I tried to focus, but I could barely stand. The world swayed beneath me. A waxen rendition of me, wearing a magnificent wedding gown, held me with lifeless eyes. _How long has he been planning this? I barely know him… I don't even know his name…_ I turned desperately to look at the Phantom. But I didn't see the gentle man of mere minutes ago. Instead, I saw the wild, dark genius that had seized his soul. _He captivates me, he frightens me._ And I was suddenly cold. I saw his mouth moving, saying my name, but I couldn't hear anything. My knees buckled. I collapsed and my vision went black.


	3. Notes

Author's Note: Thank you to all my wonderful readers and reviewers! You encourage me to keep writing. Enjoy!

**Notes**

My breath came slowly in and out, flowing like the tide. Consciousness percolated into my leaden mind and I slowly remembered the events of the night before. Still dozing, I thought of _him_, so anguished and yet so gentle. Will he be here when I open my eyes? But a feeling-an uneasy, agitated feeling-started to steal through my mind. Something had happened… Something… The feeling exploded through my mind as I remembered his proposal.

Suddenly I struggled awake, clawing for reality. Though my eyes opened, it took a few moments for my dazed mind to grasp any information. With confusion, I registered sunlight streaming through the small, round window of my dormitory chamber. I jerked up in bed but instantly regretted it. Darkness billowed across my vision and forced me to lie back against the pillows. I tried to calm my shallow breathing as I began to collect my thoughts.

The Phantom had proposed. That was a certainty. I could hear his voice in my head, that beautiful, tragic voice saying, "Ours." _Our wedding_. I shut my eyes. I was almost seventeen, certainly an eligible age, but… was I ready for marriage? My mind was too hazy to grapple with such a thought. I remembered his tenderness, his warmth, his kiss. I remembered the fire he had stirred up inside of me. I had seen into my angel's soul, and I had felt such love for him.

But he had a tortured soul, and his wildness when he spoke of an ending for Don Juan had frightened me. His obsession had taken utter control of him. I shuddered, thinking of his burning eyes. I was captivated by the Phantom, but I knew nothing about him. I moaned quietly as I realized I didn't even know his name. I pulled my blanket up over my head and wept silently.

At length I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest. Then I saw something that made my heart plummet all over again. On my nightstand was a single red rose, tied in black ribbon. It rested upon an ivory envelope, which I hesitantly opened.

_Dearest Christine, _

_I beg your forgiveness for taking leave so suddenly. Indulge your Angel of Music in one final matter that must be attended to in preparation for a proper wedding. Until I see you again, please wear my ring. As long as you keep it, you will be protected against all danger. _

I picked up the rose and saw the simple gold band tethered to it. With trembling hands,I untied the black ribbon and fingered the ring. I tried in vain to still the fluttering in my chest. But whether it was from fear or excitement I couldn't tell. It meant nothing, I reminded myself. No promise or oath or obligation. I slipped it onto my finger and immediately felt comforted.

The ring gave me strength to stand and face the world. The important thing was to find Madame Giry, who was no doubt worried by my absence. Madame Giry, Meg, the managers, Raoul… Raoul! He had intended to take me to supper. I instantly felt guilty for wearing the Phantom's ring. I tugged my sleeve down so that it partially hid the ring and then stepped outside my room.

I made my way through twisting corridors, seeking the stage. But as I was passing near the grand entrance, I heard raise voices. Then a screech: "Christine!" I froze. "It's all a plot to help Christine!" I rapidly turned down a hallway, following what could only be Carlotta's voice. As I approached, I could hear other voices, but they were indistinct. I reached the top of the magnificent staircase and paused. Carlotta wailed as the managers tried to subdue her. Ubaldo Piangi, the opera house's leading male singer, stood silently at Carlotta's side. For such a big man, he was meek and ingratiating, a devotee content to follow Carlotta's orders. And as rumor had it, he was even romantically involved with the prima donna. Suddenly, Carlotta noticed me standing there and fell silent. Everyone in the room-Firmin, Andre, Piangi, Meg, Madame Giry, and Raoul-followed her line of sight. I swallowed.

Raoul's shocked expression immediately turned into one of relief. He ran up to me, taking the stairs two at a time, then embraced me. His arms were so comforting after all the distress of recent events. I melted into his arms as he said so low that only I could hear it, "Are you all right?" I nodded mutely as we separated.

Carlotta strode up the stairs, her eyes sharp and cold. "Christine Daae," she spat. "How _dare_ you set foot in my presence? After trying to steal my place on stage, no less."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said as evenly as I could. She laughed harshly then leaned into me, whispering, "You're pathetic. You're less than nothing." Then she shoved a handful of letters at me and stalked off, calling for her attendants and her_ doggy_. Piangi scowled at me for a moment, then hurried off to do Carlotta's bidding.

I looked down at the letters and sighed when I recognized the elegant handwriting. I walked down the stairs as I skimmed them. Now I knew why Carlotta had been in such a state. When I reached the bottom of the staircase, Firmin handed me a final letter and ordered Madame Giry and Meg out of the room. Madame Giry looked as though she wanted to protest, but she knew she held a lesser position than the manager. Andre stood uncomfortably in the background, silently watching the events unfold. Fear crept over me as I reached the last line.

_Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur..._

"What are you playing at, Ms. Daae?" said Firmin. I looked at him in confusion as he continued. "Carlotta will still be playing the lead in Il Muto. You, on the other hand, are dismissed from the Opera Populaire... permanently."

I stood there, dumbfounded. Suddenly it dawned on me. "You think I wrote these letters," I said quietly. I tried not to let the humiliation and offense I was feeling show on my face.

"Who else could it be? The Opera Ghost?" snorted Firmin.

"Monsieur, I did not write these. I care not to further my career at the expense of others, and especially not in a deceptive way such as this." My voice strengthened and I turned to the managers. "And it is for everyone's sake that I beg you to listen to the Phantom. Doubt neither his abilities, nor his ambition. If you refuse to follow his orders-" Firmin's eyes narrowed.

"I warn you, Ms. Daae. Don't take me for a fool."

"But-"

"This conversation is over. Pack your things."

Raoul stepped forward and said, "Surely, you cannot believe Christine is responsible for this. There must be some explanation."

"Dear Vicomte, perhaps your imagination has gotten the better of you. There are no such things as _ghosts_ and_ phantoms_. If you have a better explanation, let's hear it. As for myself, I've had a rather trying day and will not tolerate such distasteful behavior in my theatre!"

Raoul stood quietly for a few moments. It was beginning to sink in that I would have to leave my home, the opera house. I looked desperately for Madame Giry, but then remembered she had been ordered out of the room. My thoughts turned to the Phantom. Would I never see my angel again? The presence that, for ten years, had been my faithful tutor and companion. I turned to leave, feeling numb.

Then Raoul spoke: "I sent the letters."


	4. Prima Donna

Author's Note: Thank you for the wonderful reviews! I'm in the process of composing reviews for all of you as well! There is such talent on this site, if one bothers to look for it. Enjoy.

**Prima Donna**

Firmin's mouth fell open. Piangi snapped his head around. I stared at Raoul in disbelief. What was he thinking? For a moment he stared straight into my eyes, tacitly warning me to remain silent. Then he turned to the managers and took a deep breath. "Gentlemen, I crave your pardon for my unacceptable conduct. I did not consider the consequences. But as Ms. Daae is innocent, I expect her absolved of all blame and punishment."

"Monsieur de Chagny! I've had it with this nonsense! Of all people, I certainly did not expect someone of your birth and position to-" Firmin broke off suddenly. He realized it would cost his pocketbook a fair bit of girth to insult the Opera Populaire's patron. His face turned aubergine with the force of his suppressed tirade as he swept out of the hall. "Impressed by her bedroom vocal performances, no doubt," he muttered sotto voce. Andre scurried after him. Piangi looked indecipherably at me for a moment before leaving Raoul and me alone in the vast foyer.

I reddened at Firmin's remark and dropped my gaze. Raoul's shoes entered my field of vision, then blurred with the sudden onset of tears. "Raoul, you… you shouldn't have done that," I said, attempting to keep my voice level.

"And why is that?" He gently lifted my chin. But his boyish grin gave way to a look of distress when he saw my tears. He procured a handkerchief from his coat pocket and offered it to me. "Oh no, Christine, what is it? Forgive me, whatever it is I have done. I promise to right it." His forehead creased in worry.

I dabbed at my eyes, feeling like a fool. "No, Raoul. I'm not angry, just relieved," I said, managing a small smile. He himself was visibly relieved at that. "But you really shouldn't have done that, not for me. Your reputation-"

"-is nowhere near as important as your well-being," he intervened, then smiled. "I remain ignorant as to the deviser this scheme, but I know we two are innocent. Besides, while I remain the opera house's precious_ patron_, the managers won't risk involving me in a scandal."

Suddenly, I hugged him. All thoughts of proper etiquette vanished, and for once I didn't care. He sighed and wrapped his arms around me. The boy who had so long ago saved my red scarf from the sea was once again my savior. Without him, I would now be outside in the desperate labyrinth of Parisian streets with no money, no home, and no… Angel… Not knowing why, I pulled away hastily from Raoul.

"Don't let me keep you from your rehearsal," he teased. "If you are late, I might not be able to subdue Firmin again."

"Thank you," I said softly, "For everything."

I hurried to rehearsal, intent on keeping a low profile after the morning's turmoil. But I need not have worried: As always, the stage was bustling with actors, dancers, stagehands, and staff, all oblivious to anything but their own tasks. For once I was glad of my mute role. My internal conflict kept me quite occupied. I fingered the gold ring, which I had kept hidden thus far. Why did my reforged friendship with Raoul feel like such a betrayal to the Phantom?

. . . . . . . . . .

I traced the pastel-colored stripes on my pageboy costume as I waited for _Il Muto_ to begin. My breathing came fast and shallow, mirroring my heart rate. And it wasn't a typical case of stage fright. I had grown increasingly agitated since reading the Phantom's letters. His words echoed in my mind: _Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur... _

This whole business was my fault. He had threatened the managers for my sake- because he wanted me to succeed. Because he loved me. If I could only talk to him, I could make everything better. I ached for his presence with a strong, strange yearning the likes of which I had never felt before. "Oh, Angel," I murmured and buried my face in my hands.

I was interrupted from my thoughts when Carlotta strode up to me, surrounded by her customary horde of sycophants. Piangi seemed a mere accessory, affixed to Carlotta's arm like an evening purse. He smirked at my pageboy costume. Carlotta paused to receive her throat spray from a groveling maid, then looked me up and down. "Coming, dear?" she gestured at the bed on stage. I took a seat behind her just as the pit orchestra started playing the opera's opening notes. I pulled the prop curtains closed around the two of us-we were engulfed in near darkness-and listened to the proceedings on stage, waiting for my cue.

"How does it feel to be playing my lover?" Carlotta hissed. I ignored her, instantly wishing I had been given any other part but the pageboy. "Better you than Piangi, I suppose. He is such a _dear_, but as far as lovers go?" She snorted. "Let's just say I've had better. I'm sure it's bearable for you as well. Especially because you are imagining Raoul here in my place." I turned to her in the darkness, then bit off a remark. She wasn't worth the effort. She leaned forward to whisper another verbal jab into my ear, but I heard my cue and pulled open the curtains. Startled, she tumbled forward off the bed.

My eyes widened in surprise, but the audience broke into laughter and applause. I looked up and saw even Raoul stifling a laugh.

"Serafimo, your disguise is perfect," Carlotta spat, regaining her footing. Her headdress was slightly akimbo. _A "knock" at the door._ "Why, who can this be?"

The humorous interlude had eased my mind. As the scene progressed, I found myself relaxing into the performance, easily executing my rehearsed actions. Carlotta was still pouting, but her time in the spotlight appeared to mollify her somewhat. I allowed my mind to tentatively push away all my worries. No doubt I had been overanxious about the Phantom's threat. Surely he wasn't mad enough to-

"Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?" That dark, menacing voice reverberated through the theatre, radiating such unbridled power that it seemed to possess a life of its own. My heart fluttered in longing even as the rest of my body went rigid. (Such contradiction my Angel inspired in me!) But remembering his threat, I was overcome by a deep sense of foreboding for those around me. It suddenly seemed quite possible that my mistake had been, in fact, not being anxious_ enough_.

"It's him," I said, barely able to find my voice.

"Your part is silent, little toad!" Carlotta snapped, then ordered the maestro to continue conducting. Flustered, he shifted the score on his music stand and attempted to find his place.

The music took up where it left off, but the lively melody now seemed incongruous, almost ominous. I frantically scanned the stage, but everyone appeared to have forgotten the interruption. Did they not understand the danger they were in? I turned cold as I realized I was the one who would have to save them.

I hesitantly stepped to center stage, where Carlotta was belting out her high notes. "Carlotta, stop," I said quietly. She choked off in the middle of a phrase, utterly surprised. Before she could say a word-and before I could change my mind-I turned to the audience and cleared my throat uncertainly. "We… We are having some… er, difficulties with the… sheep… from the ballet." All eyes were upon me. I glanced up at Raoul, who looked slightly bemused, and then at Firmin, who looked as if he wanted my head on a platter. "Ladies and gentlemen, we… apologize for the inconvenience and-"

Suddenly Carlotta shoved me. Her eyes blazed with hatred, and for a moment I feared for my safety. "How dare you! How dare you ruin my performance, you little brat? What is it Christine? Afraid the _Phantom_ will kill us all?" She turned to the crowd and laughed gratingly. "Forgive Christine, she's never been able to tell reality from fantasy. So much imagination! She even has enough to believe that she, a ballet rat, can romance our wealthy patr- _croaaak_!" She froze in shock. The audience gasped. She blinked and tried again. "Can romance our _croaaak_!" A look of pure malice stole over her features, contorting her face almost beyond recognition.

I stepped back uneasily as she approached me with new purpose. This level of histrionics was bizarre, even for Carlotta. "You did this," she breathed through clenched teeth. "You did this. You did this!" Her fury erupted in a demonic shriek. She lunged at me, grabbing me neck with both hands and clamping down with all her strength.

I fell backwards to the floor, and she used the leverage of her position over me to intensify the pressure on my trachea. My vision warped and darkened. I desperately lashed out. The searing pain in my neck spread through my head and chest, threatening to engulf me. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. And as I spiraled into dark oblivion, all I could think about was my Angel's promise to protect me from danger.


	5. Daylight Dissolves into Darkness

Author's Note: Thank you so much to all my readers for your patience and your feedback.

Now, in return, allow me to spirit you away to a world where the

**Daylight Dissolves into Darkness**

Suddenly, Carlotta released her vise grip on my throat. I rolled to the side and staggered to my feet, clutching at my neck. I felt a strange sense of being underwater- vision blurred and hearing strangely muted. But that didn't stop me from hearing the screams.

Disoriented, I watched as crowd members scattered, frantically tripping over velvet seats in their haste to escape the auditorium. All was a tempest of activity-Chantilly fans trampled, evening gowns ripped, opera glasses crushed underfoot. _What were they running from?_ Debris began to rain down from above. I looked up. And froze. The hall's massive chandelier tore loose from its fastenings, its chain ripping a mighty gash into the ceiling high above. Its lamps blazed with hellfire and its crystals jangled in cacophonous discord. The chandelier plummeted, then lurched unexpectedly as its chain caught on an emergency clasp. Wooden beams groaned in protest as they bore the weight of the monstrous thing, momentarily halting its deathly descent. It swayed back and forth. And still I stood riveted to the spot by fear and disbelief.

"Help!" shrieked a voice beside me. I looked down to see Carlotta on the floor. She was trying desperately to untangle her legs from her wildly excessive skirts. But the kicking and writhing only ensnared her further. I saw Piangi struggling against the tide of people, attempting to rescue his lover. But he was too far away. I reached out to help her. And suddenly the ceiling beams splintered under the chandelier's immense weight, leaving it to plunge in hopeless free fall. It hurtled toward us and I squeezed my eyes shut...

A strong force knocked me to the side, out of the chandelier's path. My back struck the floor, causing me to gasp in pain. And someone was on top of me, protecting me. I heard Carlotta's final scream, then flinched as it was abruptly cut short. An earth-shattering crash sounded but I kept my eyes shut, wondering if I'd join my father in heaven sooner than anticipated.

I lay there for several seconds, tense and waiting. Fragments of the ceiling continued to rain down, but the unknown person still shielded me with his body. At length, I allowed myself a shaky inhale. It seemed as though the worst was over.

"Christine, it's alright. I won't let any harm come to you." I opened my eyes slowly and met Raoul's searching gaze. "Thank God," he murmured. "I thought I was too late. I thought…" Then, without warning, he bridged the gap between us and kissed me. I embraced him, needing to feel solid flesh to prove to myself I was still among the living. I found myself returning his kiss, not so much as an act of intimacy but more as an expression of relief at being alive.

The moment was cut short as a nearby curtain caught fire, lit by the flaming wreck of the chandelier. The surrounding curtains and plywood backdrops followed. Breathing hard, Raoul stood and pulled me to my feet. I saw Piangi, standing frozen in shock on the other end of the stage. I followed his gaze and noticed with horror the mangled, bejeweled hand that protruded from beneath the monstrous chandelier. "Get out of here!" I shouted to him. Piangi staggered forward a step, arm outreached towards his lover's body, then fell to his knees. An unearthly wail tore from his lips, audible even above the roar of the fire. Piangi slowly looked up at me. I watched his expression as shock yielded to agony. And even in the burning theatre, I felt chilled. "I'm sorry but there's nothing you can do," urged Raoul, calling across the stage. "You need to leave. _Now_." Piangi held my gaze for a last moment before fleeing towards the main entrance. I swayed unsteadily, but Raoul swept me into his arms.

He carried me out of a side door then set me down gently. Together, we hurried to the front of the opera house. A growing crowd of spectators and performers stood watching the fire, but I could not distinguish Piangi's figure from among them. Raoul squeezed my hand and sighed. "Forgive me for leaving your side at a moment like this," he said. "but I must contact the fire brigade." I nodded in response. He kissed me softly on the forehead, then dashed down the cobbled street.

Overcome with exhaustion, I sank to the curb. I shook my head slightly in a futile attempt to rid me of guilt. Wasn't it my fault that Carlotta had died? I fingered my neck gingerly, wincing when I felt the beginnings of bruises from the pressure of her grasp. I exhaled deeply, wanting nothing more than to feel safe in my father's embrace. Hushed conversation drifted like tendrils of fog on the night breeze. Then I heard something that caused me to stiffen.

"But why bring down the chandelier?"

"How should I know? He must be a madman for God's sake!"

"-Looked like the Devil himself!"

"You said he was wearing a mask!"

"He was, I daresay. But no mask could hide the evil in _those_ eyes."

I whimpered slightly, unwilling to believe that my Angel had caused this disaster. Tears welled in my eyes as I remembered his ring. _As long as you keep it, you will be protected against all danger. _ Yet he had sent the chandelier plummeting straight towards me! If Raoul had not been there, I would undoubtedly have been killed. Was he indeed a madman? A murderer? Did he kill merely because his instructions had not been followed? My mind shied away from the idea, but an alternative was not forthcoming. I glanced up as a jet of flame spurted from an open window. Either way, I suddenly realized, he was trapped in the burning opera house.

I hesitated, unsure what to do. But my conscience-that plaguing thing!-spurred me to action. I wouldn't abandon him, not when I still felt residual doubt of his guilt. Before allowing myself to reconsider, I stood up and set my jaw. I slipped quickly and silently away from the crowd and made my way to the side door. It swung open on its hinges, battered by the hordes of people that had pushed through it mere minutes ago. I tasted smoke on the air, but it wasn't strong enough to deter me from my course.

I stepped inside the opera house and began to climb the stairs to the theatre's dome, the most likely place to access the chandelier. Despite the crackling flames below, the building was eerily quiet. I took the steps two at a time, willing myself not to turn back when the smoke intensified.

Stopping for breath halfway up, I looked out upon the rows of deserted seats-and immediately wished I hadn't. Several bodies littered the floor, burned, trampled, or both. My stomach heaved as the smell of burning flesh reached my nose. Death had stalked the halls this night. I was suddenly afraid to continue, afraid that maybe I'd misjudged the Phantom. I turned to descend the stairs, then stiffened as strains of a melody reached my ears.

The ghostly notes coiled around me, taking control of my senses and leaving me boneless. Then a velvet voice, singing. _Christine, Christine_… Its resonance beckoned from high above; I had no choice but to obey. As if in a dream, I found myself ascending the countless steps.

I came to the looped walkway at the base of the dome. From my vantage point, I could once again see the devastation below. Crackling ribbons of flame licked at the upholstered seats and thick carpets. Center stage had shattered beneath the weight of the chandelier. And now I could see clearly the gash in the ceiling, where the chain had ripped through. At that point the voice faded away, but I knew where the Phantom hid. I tread silently around the perimeter of the dome until I was at the point closest to the gash, and then pushed through an offshoot door. It led to the chandelier access room.

Once inside, I saw the enormous crank used to raise and lower the chandelier. A small amount of red light percolated in from a round, stage-viewing window, as well as from the monstrous laceration that ran the length of the floor. The door swung shut-seemingly of its own accord-but I didn't move, unwilling to test the weak, splintered floor. I squinted my eyes against the gloom. _ Christine, Christine… _teased the voice ominously.

"Angel? Where are you?" I whispered.

_You came back for me. Why? _The floorboards groaned dangerously and a section of lumber fell away.

"Please, just come with me," I said, shaking my head. "We need to get out of here now."

_Come with you! _A shadow across the room uncoiled, then solidified into human form. Its eyes blazed with barely leashed anger. "And watch you with that boy! Raoul!" My brow furrowed at the unexpected response.

"It's not what you think," I said quietly and hesitantly, looking away. Then I swallowed and forced myself to meet the Phantom's gaze. This was the moment of reckoning. "And why would you care, when you tried to… to kill me?"

The fire in his eyes was immediately extinguished, replaced with unbearable shock and pain. For what seemed an eternity he stared at me. Then a strangled sound escaped from his throat. He fell to his knees.

And the floor collapsed beneath him.


	6. Brave, Young Suitor

**Brave, Young Suitor**

It had been nearly three months since I beheld my Angel's tortured face, three months since I heard his entrancing voice, three months since I witnessed his terrible fall.

Three months. My God, it seemed a lifetime ago. And yet whenever I closed my eyes, I still saw his last expression-one made of equal parts bewilderment and agony-as clearly as if it were scorched into the back of my eyelids by the heat and intensity of the moment. And then that horrible, sickening crunch of wood as the ceiling crumbled away, stealing his eyes away from mine forever…

At the time, I'd wanted to scream, to move, to do _something_. But I only stood there in shock, feeling every part of my body go numb except for the one that really mattered: my heart. It burned like a hot bullet lodged in my chest.

The fire brigade arrived moments later. Searched the building. Found me rooted to the spot. Carried me outside. But that part's hazy. I don't remember much after the fall.

What a fool I was! I sealed the Phantom's fate with my capricious, mindless kiss. The kiss shared with Raoul. The one that should have been shared with _him_.

I was blind.

The night of the fire, Raoul opened his (considerably large) doors to the performers who had nowhere to stay. He owned an estate in the Parisian countryside. Most people had families or homes to return to, but I had neither. Raoul treated me to an elegantly furnished guest room, where a maid drew me a bath then left me in peace. I sat in the water, still in shock, until long after it had gone cold.

It took a couple days to salvage the bodies from the opera house, but by then the rebuilding had already begun. (Wealthy Parisians had smoothed out the process considerably; it seemed they did not savor the disrepair of their iconic theatre.) At one point, I gestured to the pile of rubble beneath the chandelier access room and asked a construction worker if a body had been found there. The man nodded, but when he saw my distress, he tried to reassure me. "Miss, the body was…er, crushed… beyond recognition. It might not be who you think it is." Tears flowed down my cheeks. _My fault_. I walked out in a daze, sick of the smell of death.

The fire had done considerable damage to the auditorium, but the rest of the building remained almost unscathed. After the initial fuss died down, I returned to my room in the ballet dormitories. But the silence there frightened me. I no longer felt the reassuring presence of my Angel.

The realization of his death did not set in until almost three months after the fact. When it did… Well, I shudder to think of that night. _I dreamed of him visiting me. He wore that terrible, tortured expression on his face. I begged him to forgive me, begged God to take me instead of him. But he drifted away, and no matter how fast I ran toward him, he always remained out of reach. Suddenly he stopped. As I finally stumbled up to him, though, he burst into flame. His body charred and blistered. I reached out to him but the flames scorched my flesh. I cried out-_

I woke up sweating, my pulse racing. At that moment it struck me: I would never see him again, nor feel his warm body close to mine. I would never hear his voice again. I had been abandoned first by my father and now by my Angel. I was utterly alone. "No!" I suddenly cried. "Please!" I staggered out of my dormitory room and through the empty corridors. No doubt someone had heard me. But at the moment, I didn't care. I desperately needed to reach Phantom's lair, to find some solace in the dark place.

I burst through the door of the gala suite and ran to the mirror. I clawed at its edges, hoping to find some sort of catch. But it was completely smooth. Crying out in a mixture of frustration and grief, I attacked the glass. The ring on my finger flashed as I struck it over and over, allowing the pain in my fists to fuel my onslaught. At last the mirror shattered. Bits of silver-plated glass skittered across the floor.

Just then Madame Giry rushed into the room, followed by a string of theatre staff members. Piangi stepped forward and pulled me-still screaming-from the room. His flesh was cold, as if he were a dead man. But I barely registered this, intent as I was on the empty mirror frame. There was no passageway. All that stood behind it was the plain wall.

"No," I sobbed as I went limp. "Oh, my Angel of Music…" It seemed the magic of the opera house had died along with its resident ghost.

The next afternoon, Raoul visited me. I was sitting alone on the opera house steps, getting some fresh air. It was autumn in Paris, my favorite season. Yet I drew no pleasure from the colorful leaves. Their smoldering hues reminded me of the fire-and my dream.

"Walk with me," he said warmly, offering his hand. I held up my bandaged palms apologetically but stood up to walk alongside him. (I had strung the Phantom's ring on a chain around my neck before Madame Giry could inspect and bandage my hands.) He made small talk as we walked along the Seine, but I could tell he had deeper thoughts on his mind.

"Raoul," I said, stopping to watch a rowboat gliding through the river. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" The recent tragedy had stripped me of some of my childishness and I looked at him seriously, not wanting to avoid the matter at hand. He sighed and gazed out over the water.

"You lost someone, didn't you?" he said. "In the fire." I was slightly taken aback.

"How did you know?"

"I can feel it. And it reminds me of how distant you were when your father passed on," he said, turning towards me. Then he chuckled ruefully. "Sorry, that sounds ridiculous. Forgive me, I didn't mean to pry."

"You're not."

"When I kissed you-" he broke off when I squeezed my eyes shut and turned away from him. "What I mean is, just know that I'm here for you." He touched my shoulder, not as a lover but as a friend.

We walked back to the Opera Populaire in silence. Evening was falling, towing a tenebrous shroud over the city. Suddenly, I tensed up, feeling a deep-set terror begin to steal over me. I feared spending another night in the dormitories, where only haunted echoes of the Phantom remained.

"Listen," Raoul said. "I heard about last night." I bit my lip, embarrassed by my emotional outpouring. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said earnestly, as if reading my thoughts. "Grief will run its course, no one can stop that. But if staying at the opera house is too… painful, I was thinking that maybe you'd do me the honor of being my guest. At least for a few days." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, attempting to gauge my reaction. His jaw was set tight. It was the first time I'd ever seen him so nervous.

For the first time in weeks, I found myself smiling slightly. "Like old times," I said, thinking back on our childhood years, to when we shared blankets and stories in the house by the sea. "Yes, I'd like that."

His face relaxed visibly and he laughed aloud. "I'll help you pack your things," he said and took my bandaged hand carefully in his own. I didn't pull away; I needed the comfort of an old friend.


	7. Twisted Every Way

Author's Note: A short chapter for my lovely readers this time around- but be prepared for action in the next! 

**Twisted Every Way **

When Raoul and I reached his estate, the sun had set and stars were scattered in the sky like broken glass across black velvet. We departed from the carriage and crossed into the entry room. Raoul greeted his butler fondly and requested supper-braised scallops and autumn vegetables-for two in the dining hall.

Over our meal, Raoul talked about everything except the opera house. I could tell he was trying to cheer me up, or at least distract me. I had been so tightly wound over the past few months that I was surprised when I found myself relaxing, comforted by his easy smile and playful banter.

At length I thanked him for a wonderful evening and retired to the same guest room I had slept in previously. Raoul's company had been a breath of fresh air, stirring loose the dark veil enshrouding my spirit. That night, my sleep was free of troubling dreams.

Time flowed faster when I was with Raoul. I was not accustomed to such an affluent lifestyle, and I was increasingly amazed that he hadn't let the constant luxury blight the purity of his heart. Each day he took me on some new adventure; we walked the endless streets of Paris, marveled at the Musée du Louvre, lost ourselves in Le Bois park, rowed along the Seine, and rode horses across his vast estate. I managed to suspend my grief, to push it out of my head. It was a cowardly thing to do-run from my emotions-but I knew I wasn't ready to face them. Raoul seemed to know I was hurting; when I lapsed into long silences or lost myself in memory, he would gently take my hand or engage me in conversation.

A few weeks after my arrival, we sat on a hill behind Raoul's manor, gazing at the sunset. The clouds seemed awash in red wine, with hints of burgundy and citrus. And the sun itself was poised halfway above the horizon, clinging to the earth as if it hoped to hear one more secret before it relinquished its hold. I gazed out at the glowing landscape and sighed. The scents of horses and grass and wildflowers mingled pleasantly on the evening breeze. Raoul looked over at me, smiling. I suddenly felt immensely grateful for his presence and knew that I could never repay him for his compassion and warmth when I most needed it. And although I knew he would never press me to do anything I wasn't comfortable with, I felt I owed him an explanation. I traced one of the newly-healed cuts that adorned my palm.

"Raoul?"

"Hmm?"

"It was the Opera Ghost."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The man I lost." I glanced over at him. "In the fire." He grinned, assuming a jest, then let it fade when he saw I was being serious. His forehead creased in worry.

"Christine... I know you've been through a lot and you're probably very tired… Are you feeling alright? Let me call a doctor."

"Please Raoul, I need you to hear me out." He paused, then reached out and placed his hand on mine. I took a deep breath and continued. "You remember the stories my father told- the stories of the Angel of Music."

"How could I forget?"

"That angel became the Opera Ghost, the Phantom, in order to watch over me."

Raoul looked uncomfortable. "I don't know how else to say this, but there is no angel. That was a story, Christine, a fable."

I shook my head fervently. "He was real. He was the one who taught me to sing! A voice from above, and in my dreams… He was always there."

"But… if you never saw him-"

"I did." (Raoul looked at me expectantly.) "He took me to his world of unending light, beneath the opera house. If you don't believe me, who do you think brought down the chandelier?"

Realization spread across his features. "My God, Christine! Are you saying that you know who caused that? He is a murderer!"

"No, you don't understand-"

"And he's a disturbed, twisted man if he made you believe he was your angel." Tears began to run down my cheeks and I gritted my teeth, attempting to withold my sobs. Misunderstanding my tears, Raoul's face turned ashen gray. "Christine… I'm sorry… You don't have to answer, but… did he threaten you when he kidnapped you? Did he hurt you?"

"No! He loved me, Raoul!"

"Christine, I love you!" His eyes widened, as if even he was surprised at what had leapt from his traitorous mouth.

Shocked, I stared at him. And at that moment, I no longer saw my childhood friend-the only person I could trust. I saw a grown man, a man quite capable of romances not Platonic in nature. "I cant- I'm not- I'm not ready," I forced out. I rose and ran towards the house. Raoul grabbed my arm, but I pulled loose.

He followed for a few steps, then slowed and allowed his reaching hand to fall to his side. He didn't come in pursuit, instead turning his troubled face towards the sun as it finally slipped below the horizon.


	8. Waking Nightmare

**Waking Nightmare**

I sat in the center of the Opera Populaire's newly built stage, wreathed in thick shadow. The lamps had not yet been installed, but the rest of the auditorium had been completely restored and refurbished. I breathed in deeply, forcing myself not to flee the dark theatre, not to retreat to the brightness of Raoul's home. Only now did I realize the true meaning of loneliness. Raoul had been my tether to humanity, the boy I could count on when all else crumbled away. But now the cords binding us together were frayed and rapidly unraveling into flimsy, fragile threads.

The muffled strains of church bells reached my ears; I counted twelve peals. "Good morning," I whispered, but I felt farther from daylight than the lowest demon in hell. I sighed and rubbed at my aching eyes, wishing nothing more than to drift into dreamless, thoughtless sleep. Then perhaps I could escape my regret over the impropriety of my behavior: my uncivilized dash to the house, and then my desperate appeal to the coachman. He agreed without hesitation to drive me to the Opera Populaire, as Raoul had informed his servants to obey my wishes. He did look rather surprised when I dismissed him from the opera house, but did not press me for an explanation.

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. I needed to be alone for a while. And though this place seemed foreign without the Phantom, it was the only home I knew. I looked out into the rows of empty seats, standing as orderly as gravestones in the darkness. "Angel of Music, I denied you, turning from true beauty," I murmured. I felt a great sadness, but as grief swept through me, it stirred up in its wake an amalgam of anger and self-loathing and hopelessness. Such a foolish child I was! So capricious, so wicked. My Angel would still be alive now if I had not kissed Raoul on that ill-fated night! I cried out at the injustice of it, and the sound ghosted eerily around the empty theatre. He should not have loved me….

I suddenly heard the swish of a curtain, then the creak of a floorboard. Shadows flickered to life under the glow of a handheld lantern. Frantically, I backed away from the light and dashed up the narrow, winding stairway leading to the catwalks above the stage. I peered down at the creeping light. Who had I alerted with my cry? Who would be awake at this hour?

I darted up the off-stage stairs into the shadowy upper levels. I stepped onto one of the catwalks to try and get a better view, but it swayed beneath my feet. Unfamiliar with such motion, I gripped the support ropes tightly. I felt new appreciation for the stagehands who scampered around the hanging maze during each performance, those who suspended set pieces and shifted scenes. The unstable walkways-made of thin wooden slats-hung directly above the stage. The light paused below me. I lowered myself into a seated position and prepared to silently wait out the intruder. But as I did so, the hem of my dress caught on a protruding nail. A ribbon of pale cloth tore away and fluttered down towards the glow of the lamp, like a moth seeking deadly flame. I watched with bated breath as the lamp-carrier jerked in alarm, then bent to examine the scrap of lacy fabric. He looked up. _ Piangi_.

A new wave of guilt surged through me. He had lost Carlotta, his lover, his world. And that was my fault as well. Perhaps, I thought, we could at least find some common ground in grief. He stared up at me for a moment and I gave a little wave. He made his way to the same stairs I had taken-the only ones leading to the catwalks-and ascended slowly. The lantern's light threw twisted shadows in the stairwell. Each step groaned piteously. Piangi set the lantern down as he reached the top step, but not before I saw his eyes. They held none of the deep, heartbreaking pain I'd expected to see. Piangi was no kindred spirit. He had mannequin's eyes.

And suddenly, all I could think of was that Piangi-with his cold, hard eyes-was blocking the only escape route. He took a step forward. The walkway swayed. He giggled. The childish sound echoed around the theatre, sharp and mirthless. It startled me, and I gripped the safety ropes. At my reaction, his laughter pitched a key higher. "Just the person I wanted to see! Now what are the chances that?" His glassy eyes glinted in the meager light. I dug my fingernails into my palm and willed myself to stop trembling. Piangi's giggles trailed off, but his forced grin remained plastered to his face. The silence loomed, more prevalent than before. I looked over the railing, but instinctively knew I'd never survive the drop. I was easily fifteen meters above the ground, and as the lantern was the only light source in the entire hall, I couldn't see anything below me. I still couldn't see any form of escape. Piangi's grin widened to inhuman proportions. "I asked you a question, Ms. Daae."

"Please, I've been through a lot and I'd really like some sleep," I murmured. He started to laugh again. But this time it sounded somehow predatory. My chest constricted, and ice whispered up through my spine and shoulders and neck. Something was horribly wrong. Before I could allow myself a second thought, I moved forward and attempted to bypass his thickset form. He widened his stance and grabbed both of the rope railings. "Please," I said, barely keeping my voice even. "What do you want?" Piangi found this hilarious. I clenched my teeth as he erupted into raucous laughter again.

"What do I want?" He advanced towards me. Panicked, I tried to shove him away, but made no headway against his bulk. "What do you think I want?" He laughed harder, then spun me around and jerked my arm up so hard that I nearly cried out in pain. I squirmed out of his grasp and nearly lost my footing. The catwalk lurched sickeningly. "I want Carlotta back." The corners of his mouth turned upwards.

"Please, you don't understand-"

"Oh, I understand perfectly," his voice was quiet and sickly sweet. "Are you trying to tell me you weren't jealous of my Carlotta? That you didn't covet her role in_ Il Muto_? That you and the Vicomte didn't plan this entire disaster?"

"Piangi, please. You're not thinking straight. Let me explain!" Darkness closed in around me as I scrambled backwards, farther from Piangi but also farther from the sole lantern. Suddenly, my back pressed up against the far wall. I was trapped. Piangi giggled, sensing his prey's helplessness. He bridged the distance between us in one remaining stride. I opened my mouth to scream, but then felt cold metal pressing against my neck.

"Struggle," he said, smiling, "And you're dead." He paused for a moment, pondering, then said, "Well, I suppose you'll be dead soon either way. What really matters is how painful you want to make it." I swallowed, and in doing so felt the tip of the knife dig into my neck. I desperately wracked my mind for a way out.

"Raoul will find out," I blurted. "Or Madame Giry. Or someone else. You won't get away with it."

He chuckled. "You're right. They'll find your broken body right there below us. They'll find the knife in your breast. Yes, Ms. Daae, they'll find your suicide." The blood ran from my cheeks and I suddenly felt faint. I fell to my knees. Perhaps this was my suicide. I was indeed the cause of Piangi's instability, his fragile mental state. It all came full circle in the end. Piangi traced my jawline with the knife, then trailed it down my skin until it rested over my heart. I looked upwards into his face.

And somewhere high above, in the murk of the theatre, I thought I saw two glowing flames. They flashed once then disappeared, but they unleashed in me a sudden, overwhelming will to live. The lights-whether real or imagined-awakened memories of the warm, mellow candlelight that had filled my Angel's eyes our first night together. Such beauty... I was the only one who really knew him, the only one who loved him.

Piangi inhaled, preparing to sink the knife into me. I gritted my teeth. I wouldn't let my Angel's memory die along with me.

I wrenched Piangi's arm away, then sprang to my feet and shoved past him. The catwalk swayed, and I grabbed onto a support rope. Piangi turned and dove at my legs, barely managing to catch hold of my right ankle. I fell hard, jarring my elbows and knees. I kicked at his hands, but he seemed impervious to pain. He laughed maniacally and dragged me towards him. I grabbed Piangi's forearms as he thrust the knife towards my chest. But he was stronger, and he had the leverage of being above me. The knifepoint pricked the skin of my chest, seeking my heart. I sobbed in terror.

Suddenly, a shadow dropped down behind him. Piangi's body weight jerked off me. I wanted to scramble away, but I was in shock. I angled my head to look at the scene before me. My tormentor struggled with a man who seemed to be made of smoke. Moving with lithe masculinity, the stranger easily pinned Piangi to the swaying catwalk and whipped a noose around his neck. I watched, stupefied, as the rope pulled tight, causing Piangi to gasp for breath. He flailed wildly. Despite the darkness, I made out his bulging, terrified eyes. Finally, the stranger reached out to grab a hook-used to hang set pieces during performances-and knotted the end of the noose around it. Then he unceremoniously kicked Piangi off the edge.

I watched the rope uncoil then jerk as it reached its full length. I could not see over the edge from the position I was in, but I heard a strange gurgling sound as the rope tautened and swayed. I closed my eyes and laid my head back against the floorboards. Immediately the figure loomed over me, drenched in shadow. I felt cool, soothing, leather-clad fingers brush the damp hair from my forehead. He gently caressed my cheek. With tremendous effort, I opened my eyes and looked into the shadow's face. It was half covered by a smooth, white mask.


	9. All I Ask of You

Author's Note: I'm going out of town for a bit so I will publish a few chapters now and then the final ones when I get back. Please, to all my recent favoriters and alerters, if you get a chance will you consider reviewing as well? Feedback really does motivate me. Anyway, I've kept you waiting long enough- finally the answers you've been waiting for!

**All I Ask of You**

I stared, uncomprehending, up into my Angel's face. My momentary relief gave way to shock, then fear, doubt, confusion, and at last, relief again. I searched his eyes, watching closely as the primal brutality he had just exhibited yielded to subtle tenderness. He waited motionlessly for my reaction.

Finally I took a breath. "Your eyes... They're different colors," I whispered, not quite knowing what else to say. And it was true. One was amber, the other a deep blue-green.

His face softened and he gathered me into his arms. But in the process, the chain around my neck shifted and revealed the ring. The Phantom paused for what seemed an eternity. An unreadable emotion passed across his face. He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead, as if trying to convey a wordless message. Then he pulled back. "You're hurt," he said, indicating the trickles of blood on my neck and chest. He became suddenly efficient, yet I could still see that emotion enduring in his eyes. He blotted the blood with his shirtsleeve, staining his cuff but not seeming to notice. Then he walked across the catwalk, as steady as if he were on solid ground. I knew I had questions for him, but my shock-muddled brain refused to let me formulate or articulate them. He extinguished Piangi's lamp and left it smoking at the top of the stairs. I began to tremble as he carried me down to the stage; it worsened when we passed near the boots of Piangi's corpse. Even in the darkness, I made out his staring face and the dark patches where the noose had broken his skin. "May his corpse serve as a warning," the Phantom said, leaving the body suspended. I buried my face in his shoulder. I was cold, so cold.

The Phantom carried me out of that cursed auditorium and down an adjoining corridor. He proceeded assuredly through the darkness. It seemed he needed neither light nor orientation. I reminded myself that the Opera Populaire was ultimately _his_ artistic domain. And at this hour, the residents of the theatre were asleep, a matter which gave the Phantom free reign over the maze of passages.

He unlocked a door and entered. He set me gently on my feet, then lit the candelabra on the bedside table. The candles were new—they extended upwards like long, waxy fingers. I wrapped my arms around myself and looked around. It was the gala suite! The room where I had first seen my Angel, and where I had broken the mirror. The wall still appeared plain, unadulterated. I remembered Piangi's cold hands pulling me from the room that night and sank down onto the feathery bed, feeling weak and sick.

"Sleep," he whispered. "Purge your thoughts." He began to hum, and the sound brought me some semblance of peace. I welcomed the chance to recover from my ordeal. I lay back and allowed myself to drift asleep. But still I dreamt of mannequin's eyes.

. . . . . . . . . .

Some time later, I became halfway conscious of somebody hovering over me. Visions of Piangi suddenly surfaced and I whimpered in fear, scrambling away. "Christine, it's me," my angel said hurriedly. I paused as my memories reorganized themselves. Then I sat back down, still feeling disconcerted. I noticed that the candles in the candelabra had burnt almost to their bases. I must have been asleep for hours. The Phantom sat beside me and drew the bedcovers around my thin shoulders. "Forget these wide-eyed fears," he murmured. "I'm here. Nothing can harm you."

"But how _can_ you be here?" My forehead creased in confusion. I wanted nothing more than to simply fall asleep again under his protective gaze, yet reason urged me to seek answers. I shook my head. "I watched you fall from the top of the auditorium."

He closed his eyes and exhaled. For an instant, something akin to a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. "My dear, did you expect a mere seventy-metre fall to be the undoing of the Opera Ghost?"

"But, how…? There was a body…"

"I suppose I owe you an explanation," he grinned ruefully. "This might take some time. I didn't _quite_ plan for those floorboards to collapse, but then again I didn't _quite_ plan to send the chandelier ripping through the ceiling."

He became suddenly businesslike. "That night, I laced Carlotta's throat spray with a compound containing arsenic." _Poison._ My chest constricted painfully at the thought. Was he indeed a madman? I couldn't bring myself to believe it after he had just saved me from Piangi. "No, Christine, it wasn't a lethal dose. It was such a tiny amount, and so combined with other components, that it should only have affected her voice. Please recall my medical library and know that I have had some experience in the field; in fact, I am certain I could be a physician if I so wished. In any case, it reacted in an unforeseeable way and she became aggressive. That's when she attacked you. But from my post in the theatre dome, there was no way I could reach you in time to save you. And so I became desperate." He sighed. "On impulse, I sent the chandelier hurtling towards the stage. I needed to divert Carlotta's attention. There was nothing else I could do." I was reassured slightly by his words, and by his honest retelling.

"Now, regarding my fall," he continued after a pause. "Christine, first and foremost, I am your protector. But after that, a musician, composer, architect, designer, and magician. The latter was very convenient in this case." He paused. "My 'death'wasn't difficult to arrange, especially because such a small population believed in my… corporeal… existence to begin with."

I caught my breath in disbelief. "So. You let me believe you were dead. You let me believe I had lost you forever? I suppose your _architectural skill_ allowed you to remove the traces of the passage beyond the mirror." I gestured at the smooth wall across the room. My mind was being pulled in two directions. On one hand, I was overwhelmed by gratitude at the miracle of seeing him again. But I also felt the stirrings of anger within me. "Do you realize how painful my life has been during these past months? I knew you were a killer and yet somehow I needed you."

"Christine," he grasped my hand tightly. It was his turn to stare in disbelief. "I had no choice. You were in love with the Vicomte, that was plain enough. I saw you kiss him! And so I tried to let you go. Oh how I tried! Don't you see? I wanted you to have him, a man you deserved! The grief you saw in me that night was in no way fabricated." Suddenly he cried out in frustration. "And the fall—I forced myself to twist it into a final valediction. Though it ripped me to pieces, I vowed never to see you again. It was best… for everyone…. But then you returned! No one enters or exits my theatre without my knowledge, least of all in the dark of night. And I'm weak, I'm selfish. I couldn't resist seeing you again. But when I arrived at the stage—when I saw that monster!"

He hissed as his face contorted in rage. "He did not deserve such a quick death. Believe me, Christine—I know what a foul creature I am. I've killed far more people than I care to remember, and I curse my own existence." Suddenly, his demeanor shifted. He dropped to his knees before me and took my hands in his. "But for you… I could be anything for you. I could be good for you. I could _change_ for you. Please, promise to consider my proposal from all those weeks ago. That's all I ask of you."

I looked for a long time into his somehow innocent face.

We were interrupted by a commotion in the hall. I heard footsteps hurrying past the door, accompanied by low, urgent conversation. Distant screams sounded from the direction of the stage. Then Raoul's commanding voice: "Where is she?"

"Please explain yourself, Vicomte."

"Madame Giry, I'm sorry I woke you. But Christine is here. In the Opera Populaire. She ran off last night, and I need to find her. Only I fear she may be somehow involved in a murder. I found Piangi _hanging_ over the stage."

"Punjab lasso," said Madame Giry softly, as if to herself. "Then that means…"

"If you know anything at all-

"-Never mind. I haven't seen Christine, but you're welcome to search. My keys are on the table in that room down the hall. I'll handle this whole business about Piangi."

"Madame Giry, wait!"

"Please Monsieur, I know no more than anyone else."

"That's not true!"

"Monsieur, don't ask. There have been too many accidents."

"Accidents? Please, Madame Giry, for all our sakes."

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, I… I _can't_!" she cried, her voice wavering. "I can only hope you will understand in time." And she swept off down the hall.

I looked curiously at the Phantom. He exhaled audibly then stood up and offered me his hand. "We don't have much time," he said. "I realize I don't deserve another chance, but… Please, tell me your choice after you perform_ Don Juan_."

"And when will that be? We're scheduled to perform a repeat of Chalumeau's_ Hannibal _for the reopening of the theatre in two weeks, but after that the program is undetermined." Suddenly I heard nearby doors rattling open and shut.

"And how will you perform _Hannibal_ without a Hannibal? No, for the reopening you'll be performing my opera. I'll deliver the score to Madame Giry-" he noticed my look of confusion. "We've known each other for a long time, and I've always been able to trust her. But that is a story for another time. In any case, she will undoubtedly convince the managers to stage it. They will have to accept, if they are sensible enough to realize that, without Piangi, they require an opera lacking a Primo Uomo role."

"No Primo Uomo? I'll be singing without male accompaniment?" Our door handle shook.

"I'm sorry my love, please trust me. You'll know what to do when the time comes."

The door burst open. I turned and gasped. Raoul stood in the doorway, breathing heavily but looking relieved. "Christine, thank god! Are you alright? I found this and feared the worst," he held up a scrap of fabric —_the scrap of my dress that had fluttered down from the catwalk! _Alarmed, I turned around to look at the Phantom. The candles hissed as they finally burned out—or most likely were extinguished by the swish of a cloak. He was gone.


	10. Lust for Blood

**Lust for Blood**

That very afternoon, I was forced back into the routine of preparing for a production. (Apparently Madame Giry had been successful in her undertaking.) As the leading soprano, my whole day was taken up by rehearsals. I thought about trying to contact the Phantom but then decided against it. I needed time to think about my inevitable choice. I also knew that the best way to express my reverence for him—as well as my gratitude to him for saving me—was to perfect his magnum opus.

Raoul was downcast when I told him I wanted to move back into my room in the ballet dormitories, but he agreed it would be better for my rehearsal schedule and sent a carriage carrying my belongs to the opera house. We made no mention of the Opera Ghost or of my scene at Raoul's manor. I dined with him a few nights later in an attempt at a wordless apology; he seemed just as sorry for his actions and even kissed my hand as we parted for the night.

Piangi's mysterious death was the topic of whispered conversation throughout the Opera Populaire. Speculation ranged from accident to suicide to murder. Suspicious stagehands swore it to be the Opera Ghost's doing, and even the most sensible residents seemed tense. Firmin deviated from his customary "gossip's worth its weight in gold" approach and covered up Piangi's death. He knew the theatre's reputation was unstable after the fire and wanted it to have a successful reopening. And in an attempt to boost overall morale for the upcoming performance, the managers even hired a contingent of gendarmes to guard the opera house. When I heard about this latest measure, my gut twisted. I knew the Phantom was clever, but he would need to be especially careful with his plans for_ Don Juan Triumphant_.

Throughout the week, I became more and more agitated. The strenuous rehearsals pushed my limits, and I struggled to refine my soaring vocals. Parts of the libretto seemed slightly off balance due to the lack of a Primo Uomo. But I knew not to question the Phantom's skill in composition. The instrumental sections, magnificent and avant-garde, more than made up for the discrepancy. I felt my Angel's spirit quivering in the ink on the pages, and I would not allow myself to fail him. Yet I knew my endless practicing was merely a method of coping with the true dilemma.

At last it was the day of the performance. During the afternoon rehearsal, I ended up cracking my high notes. My throat was tense, my mind unfocused. When we finally finished practicing, I noticed the questioning looks of both Raoul and my fellow actors. I reddened in shame and slipped away from the main stage before anybody could see me fall apart.

I made my way quickly towards the chapel, seeking solace in my father's presence. But at the last minute I made a detour. I grabbed my traveling cloak from my room and headed instead for the theatre's stables. There, I hired a coachman to take me to the cemetery. I avoided looking at him, unwilling to let him see the tears of frustration running down my cheeks. He didn't pry; in fact, he was strangely silent during the journey.

I departed from the carriage and pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders, then stepped forward to the wrought iron gates of the cemetery. The hooded coachman remained at the gates, waiting until I should wish to return to the opera house.

My shoes crunched softly on the newly fallen snow. Gravestones rose from the low mist, solid and imposing, and my mind wandered in the dreamlike setting—thinking of everything and nothing. I found consolation in silence as I walked down the marble rows towards my father's grave. My god, how I wished he was somehow here again. He would have been able to guide me through this confusion and pain. My world had shattered when he passed on… Perhaps that was the reason I had been so eager to believe in the return of his angel.

At last I beheld my father's mausoleum, bearing the inscription _Daae_, and fell to my knees before it. Even after all this time, the sight of my father's grave still brought me to tears. Rocking back and forth, I whispered broken phrases: "Why can't the past just die? No more memories, no more silent tears, no more gazing across the wasted years." And then my desperate question: "Please… Who must I choose? Friend or phantom?"

I don't know how long I knelt there, waiting for a sign. I faded into half-consciousness—past the point of shivering with cold, past the point even of feeling emotional pain. Just a hollow, dessicated shell of a girl.

I raised my head slightly as the coachman came up behind me. Then I closed my eyes, "I should have known that you'd be here, Angel," I said weakly.

"I vowed to myself not to interfere, but you were gone so long. I needed to make sure you were alright." He knelt beside me and held me close. "I've caused you so much pain," he murmured. His whisper echoed with endless longing. I turned to look at him but his eyes remained fixed on the mausoleum. Gradually, his warmth and his presence revived my soul.

"I'm ready now," I said quietly. My angel rose and took hold of my hands, drawing me to my feet. After kneeling in the cold so long, my legs buckled, but he swept me into his arms and carried me away from the grave. He kissed me gently on the forehead and smiled sadly.

Suddenly we heard the rhythm of galloping hooves. The Phantom steeled himself as Raoul, mounted bareback on a white horse, hurtled into view. Raoul crouched low over the horse's shoulders, his teeth gritted in anger. "Leave her alone, you monster!" he cried. The Phantom lowered me to my feet as Raoul leaped from his horse and ran to me. "Christine, whatever you believe, this man—this _thing_-"

"Stop!" I cut in. "Please, just-"

But Raoul would have none of it. "Move aside, Christine. He is tainting your judgment." There was a low hiss as he slid his rapier from its sheath.

"Raoul, wait!" My eyes widened. He circled past me, sword raised menacingly.

The Phantom became suddenly feral in poise, light on his feet. In one sinuous motion, he swept his cloak over one shoulder and freed a sword from his belt. Raoul _almost_ hid his surprise at the turn of events, but I could tell he hadn't expected the Phantom to be armed.

The two men began to circle each other slowly, step by step. The Phantom's sword gleamed as he flourished it decoratively. "I hate to have to cut the fun short," he smirked. "But the joke's wearing thin."

Raoul narrowed his eyes suddenly, then lunged forward, beating a metallic _clang _against the Phantom's blade. I found myself fearing for both of them. Anything could happen now. Raoul parried the Phantom's lighting strikes, pivoting his wrist to deflect the impact. Steel met steel.

The Phantom swung his arm at Raoul's head. Raoul ducked out of range but lost his balance, leaping at the last moment over a low wall. His knees crumpled on landing. The Phantom descended like the angel of death, his cloak outstretched into wings. His teeth were bared in a demonic snarl. I looked on in terror, knowing it was futile to intervene.

Raoul stumbled to his feet and regained his fighting stance. He met the Phantom stroke for stroke as they wound a deadly dance through the cemetery. The Phantom feinted to one side. With a cry, Raoul slashed at him, but cut only empty air. They engaged again, swords flashing almost faster than my eyes could follow.

The sound of clashing steel rang out harshly across the icy landscape. Raoul evaded a stab and dodged behind a pillar, but the Phantom closed in with a raptorial gleam in his eyes. He took the upper hand, tirelessly advancing. My heart beat frantically as the duel proceeded. I could see that the strength of his attacks were beginning to overwhelm Raoul. The Phantom possessed an impossible balance of power and feline grace.

Suddenly their swords locked at the hilt. A savage grapple ensued. Sweat streamed from both mens' faces, and they grunted with furious effort. And then, with a massive thrust, the Phantom knocked Raoul off his feet. Raoul gasped as he slammed against the hard ground. His sword skittered out of reach. The Phantom closed in for the death strike. His blade sought Raoul's heart.

Raoul instinctively grabbed the Phantom's forearms in a last, desperate motion, trying to force the blade away. But the Phantom was stronger, and he had the leverage of being above Raoul. The Phantom's sword point pricked the skin of Raoul's chest, and Raoul cried out in desperation.

A strange sense of déjà vu washed over me._ Piangi. The struggle. The knife descending. _"No!" I screamed.

The Phantom looked up at me, his strength unfaltering. He barely seemed to see me.

"Please. Not like this…" And he must have seen himself reflected in my eyes—at this moment no better than Piangi—and remembered his words: _I could be good for you. I could _change_ for you. _

With an inhuman shout, he plunged his sword downward… into the snow next to Raoul's head. Then he tore himself away from the defeated Vicomte.

He stood with his back to me for a few minutes, breathing heavily, as Raoul lay back against the snow in shock. At last he turned around, took my arm, and silently guided me out of the cemetery.


	11. The Point of No Return

Author's Note: The _Don Juan Triumphant_ scene will make a lot more sense if you've watched the 2004 movie recently. If not, I suggest you watch a video of "Point of No Return" on youtube before you read this. And now… let me take you past

**The Point of No Return**

A trumpet fanfare sounded as the Phantom and I arrived at the Opera Populaire. It was time for the audience members to be seated. The Phantom had remained silent throughout the return journey and I yearned to speak to him, yet I knew I had only a handful of minutes to dress in my costume. He remained staring forward and I could feel the tension—the turmoil—within him despite his impassivity. I sat frozen with indecision.

After a few uncomfortable moments, he stirred and said, "Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you." His voice was unusually strained.

I twisted the edge of my cloak between my fingers. "I'm sorry for everything," I murmured. "I didn't mean for this to happen with you and Raoul." When he didn't respond, I stepped slowly down from the carriage.

"Christine," the Phantom said suddenly, his gloved hands darting to my shoulder. "Please, _mon ange_, don't apologize for anything." He looked at the floor. "I want to thank you…." I could see that he was struggling. I reached up and rested my hand on his knee as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Thank you for showing me that I don't have to be a monster."

He grasped my hand hesitantly, then released it and urged the horses forward. I watched his silhouette until I could no longer decipher it from the surrounding darkness. Then I turned and entered the theatre. I knew somehow that my angel had preparations of his own to attend to before his opera commenced.

The stage glowed with coruscating flames, casting a crimson veil across the audience. Shadows intensified against the deep red and like stains of liquid midnight unfurled among the aisles. Fragmented sensations. Tension crackling through the air. Passion and fear. The terrible beauty of a rose tied with black ribbon.

And yet among all this, I still waited silently in the wing for my cue. Such a mundane task on such a pivotal night. _Don Juan_ was proceeding smoothly, and though the music was difficult, it nearly took my breath away. Still hidden, I looked out into the audience and knew the spectators were as captivated as I was. Even the gendarmes were distracted from their duty.

I glanced up at Box Five and grimaced when I saw Raoul sitting with the managers. His attire was unexpectedly neat—considering the sword fight—and he seemed recovered from the ordeal. I offered up silent thanks that the Phantom had spared him, and prayed that Raoul wouldn't do anything to compromise his life again.

At that moment, I heard the opening measures of the next song. I smoothed the lace sleeves of my costume, picked up my basket of roses, then took a deep breath. Finally, it was time.

"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy," I sang, stepping out onto the stage. "No dreams within her heart but dreams of love." The pure notes flowed through me, rinsing away my internal strife. I shared a look with Raoul as they drifted away into silence. He gazed at me solemnly, then nodded slowly. And I knew he had not yet given up. My stomach twinged.

I prepared to wait out the subsequent lull in the libretto, which I knew to be a solely instrumental passage of _Don Juan Triumphant_. I kneeled and toyed with a rose from my basket. But suddenly a dark, powerful voice reverberated through the auditorium.

"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish, which till now has been silent, silent…."

I tensed at the sound of that voice, my mind working furiously to understand. And then I realized: _Don Juan_ did have a Primo Uomo. It was the Phantom. I turned slowly to look over my shoulder and saw_ him_, wearing a long cloak and a sable mask. Warmth flooded my body as he brought his finger seductively to his lips. Never had he looked so striking.

"I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me," here he swirled his cape. "Now you are here with me: no second thoughts, you've decided, decided…."

I met his fervent gaze and rose to my feet, all thoughts of Raoul and the performance and the gendarmes gone. Those eyes—those mismatched eyes—encircled all existence.

"Past the point of no return, no backward glances, our games of make-believe are at an end. Past all thought of 'if' or 'when'—no use resisting—abandon thought and let the dream descend."

His hand flowed through the air.

"What raging _fires_ shall flood the soul?" And suddenly he swept behind me and seized my throat possessively. I melted against him, my eyes going half-lidded. He brought his lips to my ear. "What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?" I trembled as he trailed his hands down my arm. The audience began to murmur and stir; but whether it was with offense or curiosity I knew (and cared) not.

"Past the point of no return—the final threshold—what warm unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of no return…" the Phantom released my hand and I stepped away, feeling feverish. My initial uncertainty had evolved into desire, and then a consuming, urgent need. There could be no turning back.

I gazed at him, suddenly intense, embers stirring to wildfire in my eyes.

"You have brought me to that moment when words run dry, to the moment where speech disappears into silence, silence… I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent." At this point I noticed Raoul; his face was pale and he seemed unwilling to believe the words he was hearing. He nodded to the General d'Armee, who then signaled to his troops. They began to close in slowly towards the stage. I glanced hurriedly at the Phantom, but he was already aware of the silent proceedings. Set somewhat at ease, I continued.

"Now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided, decided…."

The passion I felt was reflected and magnified in the Phantom's eyes, and I allowed myself to lose myself in his music once again. I began to climb the set of winding stairs on my side of the stage. He mirrored my actions on the other end.

"Past the point of no return, no going back now, our passion-play has now, at last, begun." While I ascended stair after stair, I kept my eyes riveted to him. Even the separation of twenty metres seemed now too much to bear. I craved his touch. And from his expression, I knew he felt the same. "Past all thought of right or wrong—one final question—how long should we two wait before we're one?" I gripped the wooden supports and arched towards him over the expanse of stage. "When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom, when will the flames at last _consume _us?" We simultaneously reached the platform raised above the stage. It was linked with the other catwalks, but at the moment I wasn't thinking about what else had occurred up there.

The Phantom swept his cloak from his shoulders and approached. His voice entwined with mine as we sang the final lines:

"Past the point of no return, the final threshold-" he pulled me to him with sudden desire and held my back firm against his chest. "-The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn! We've passed the point of no… return…." The Phantom caressed my hips, my shoulders, my neck, and I found myself nearly unable to breathe. I pressed myself against him, losing myself in his warmth and his touch and his scent. That same scent of blackcurrant wine that had intoxicated me during our first meeting… My present passion—fiery and abrupt—layered itself upon memory of that achingly tender night.

The Phantom seemed to undergo the same superimposition of memories and emotions. His movements slowed. With sudden gentleness, he kissed my hair and whispered, "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me, from my solitude." My heart throbbed for him, this man who had always been alone. "Say you'll want me with you here, beside you…" I turned to him and looked into his eyes. They glowed with passion, but deeper than that, _love_. True love. I remembered his words: _You'll know what to do when the time comes. _He had changed for me, and now everything fell simply into place. I wanted to be with him, forever. His voice swelled: "Anywhere you go let me go, too. Christine, that's all I ask of-"

And then I saw the gendarme poised just behind the Phantom. There was the sudden unmistakable flash of a bayonet.

I hurled myself in front of my angel.


	12. Down Once More

Author's Note: When you get to a certain point, the Phantom's methods might seem, as he puts it "modern," but trust me— I did my research! Enjoy.

**Down Once More**

The gendarme attempted to swerve away from me mid-lunge, but the catwalk lurched beneath him. He lost balance and smashed into my shoulder. The Phantom caught and steadied me in his arms. His confusion was overpowered by his anger at the guard's disturbance. He had spent a lifetime slaving away over this music—over this moment—and for it to be ruined by a single guard…

These thoughts suddenly skittered away as I found myself unable to draw in a full breath. I gasped for air.

The gendarme stepped backwards slowly.

His hands were empty.

I looked into his horrified face, then slowly down at the gleaming blade protruding from my side. I moaned softly and sank back against the Phantom. "My god," he whispered in alarm. "Christine… no, no!" The Phantom's eyes suddenly blazed with hellfire and he snarled as he looked at the man. I knew if it wasn't for his promise to me, he would have snapped the man's neck in an instant. His voice trembled with barely-restrained rage: "Run." The gendarme needed no second bidding.

The audience began to thrum with low conversation. What was happening? Was this part of the act? But all ambiguity dissipated when the General d'Armee began to shout orders to his men. Gendarmes swarmed towards us up the stairs.

The pain came on swiftly, biting into me with throbbing intensity. I clutched at my wound; crimson blood ribboned over my taut fingers and down my side.

We would never escape, especially not with me in this condition. "Leave," I urged through gritted teeth. "Please, Ange, leave! They're going to kill you." I began to panic.

"Just hold me," my angel whispered brokenly. I didn't even have the strength to protest. He kicked at a hidden lever. With a snap, the square of floor below us unlatched.

Then we were falling.

I cried out as we landed on a high mound made of old stage curtains. They were faded from their former splendor to the color of dried blood. The bayonet lodged itself deeper as I struggled to rise. I was breathing shallowly now, gasping with fear and pain. The Phantom lifted me and began to move swiftly through the underground passages. He seemed in as much agony as I was.

"Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair, down we plunge to the prison of my mind. Down that path into darkness deep as hell," he breathed in a frenzy. "Christine, why? Why!"

I recoiled at his harsh tone before realizing that his anger was a manifestation of his fear and guilt. He must feel responsible for my injuries; I allowed myself to be hurt for his sake. I whimpered as the descent jarred me. "I… made my choice."

He continued to run but looked down at me, uncomprehending. I raised my hand to show him the ring I'd slipped on secretly during the song.

"Angel, I chose you."

His face was haunted, broken, yet it glowed faintly. He kissed my hand then lowered it back to my side: "Hold it like this… You must keep pressure on the wound."

Shortly we reached his cavernous home. We came in a side entrance, bypassing the lake and gondola altogether. He bent towards me and I captured his lips in a desperate kiss. I knew that, if I didn't survive, it would be our last. "Please, my love, call me Erik." His voice caught on the name, as if he'd never before revealed it.

"Erik," I whispered. And then I gasped as the pain overwhelmed me once more. It felt as if a torch was being twisted deeper and deeper within me. The pain knifed at my senses, distorted my mind. It was my turn to ask him: "Just hold me, please… I don't know… how much longer I can…"

"Hush, my Christine," he murmured, laying me flat on a shelf of rock. "Trust me."

He left my side for a moment. I began to writhe as the pain grew more and more intense.

"Erik!" I sobbed.

"I'm here." He returned with several vials, metal instruments, bandages, and other supplies and I remembered his medical library. I am certain I could be a physician if I so wished. I hoped he was right.

I found myself feeling faint as blood leaked unceasingly from my side. I was lost in a haze of pain. Erik continued to speak to me, saying my name more than anything, checking periodically to make sure I hadn't lost consciousness. He finished arranging his tools, drew a blanket over my legs, then said, "Now, Christine, listen to me. This is important. Can you hear me?" With the task of saving me on his hands, his obsessive side took over completely. He was suddenly calm, poised, utterly focused. "Christine. I'm going to have to remove some of the barriers between me and your wound. I apologize if this seems at all indecent; I swear to you it is strictly necessary."

He grabbed scissors from his tray of instruments and began to cut away a large portion fabric at my waist, revealing a circle of bloodstained flesh around the bayonet's entry point. This he cleaned with a wet cloth, dipping it several times into a bowl of water.

Next, he unstoppered a vial of strong-smelling liquid and dabbed it over the wound. It stung and I couldn't help crying out. I attempted to squirm away, but he held me still.

"Please, Christine, trust me. I am trying to minimize your pain, but I need to clean the wound as well. I know my methods are somewhat… modern… but I'm going to try anything I can to save you." As he worked, I faded in and out of consciousness. He lit more candles, cleaned the area around the wound, and applied pressure to it with a wad of bandage material.

I stared up into his face; it was the only thing worth holding onto. Every once in awhile, he wiped the sweat from his brow. His mask kept interfering, and he seemed about to remove it. Then he hesitated.

"It's okay," I said almost imperceptibly. "I don't mind."

He looked down on me with unceasing gratitude. But then, without warning, he shut his eyes.

"Wait. I think, my dear, we have a guest.


	13. The Music of the Night

Author's Note: Thank you so much for your support and reviews. You have driven me to continue writing, and although this is the final chapter, I hope you have enjoyed reading _Fear Can Turn to Love_.

**The Music of the Night**

I raised myself on one elbow, clenching my teeth at the movement. "Raoul…" He stood knee-deep in the lake, just beyond the portcullis.

"I had rather hoped that you would come," Erik said softly.

"Free her!" cried Raoul. "Do what you like, only free her—have you no pity?" He pounded his fist against the iron grating. "I love her—does that mean nothing? I love her! Show some compassion… Christine, Christine! Let me see her!"

Erik's lips twitched, but after a moment he merely nodded and pulled a nearby lever. "Be my guest, sir."

The portcullis rose and Raoul stepped forward into the cavern. Then he seemed to realize something and suddenly raised his hand to the level of his eyes.

"Monsieur, no need for that… I bid you welcome. Did you think that I would harm her?" he continued, reversing the lever and settling the metal grid back into its resting place. "Or you, for that matter. I disabled my traps temporarily; I knew you'd be the first to find your way down here." I remained tense, confused. I clutched at Erik's arm and hoped desperately that he would not do anything spiteful.

Raoul lowered his hand and cautiously climbed up the low incline.

"Furthermore, it seems I am in need of your assistance." The two locked eyes and a palpable mistrust swelled between them. I spasmed with a fresh wave of pain and sweat dripped from my forehead and cheekbones. The seconds passed with ever-fading distinction through my faltering mind. "After assessing the situation," Erik said, "I think it will be best to remove the blade from her side. I need you to hold her down."

Raoul breathed in sharply, a sound that made the ensuing silence even more forbidding. They were bonded by a mutual love for me, and for now, all that remained to be seen was whether that love was stronger than their animosity towards each other. A minute passed and I felt my focus drifting, my thoughts slipping away.

Finally, Raoul spoke: "Will it save her?"

"It is the only way."

Raoul looked at the floor and then nodded, stepping towards me. I jerked back into full consciousness. My eyes widened in sudden fear. "Please, no," I whimpered. I shrank away from the two men, but my back met rigid stone. "No, no!"

"I'm so sorry," Raoul whispered, before immobilizing my arms and legs. Erik pressed firmly against the bandages and grasped the protruding hilt of the bayonet.

"Ready, my love?" asked Erik.

I shook my head. I felt betrayed. I was so afraid.

"It's going to be alright. I love you," he said, his lips meeting mine.

I squeezed my eyes shut. And then he pulled the hilt slowly outwards. There was a searing pain—indescribable in intensity—that rippled through my body and limbs. Raoul pinned me down as I began to thrash and scrabble at the rock ledge. I screamed. Erik pulled me closer to him and captured the tortured sounds in his mouth. He drew the blade out with a steady, unerring hand. His tears fell warm on my cheeks, mingling with my own. I screamed again as the bayonet blade twisted free.

Then it was over.

I lay exhausted, trembling and panting for breath. The pain receded to a throbbing ache, though I hissed when he stitched up the wound. Raoul was pale; he stumbled down to the lake and washed his face in the cool water.

"Erik…" My voice was faint.

"Christine, my brave little Christine. Forgive me. You're safe now, nothing can harm you."

"You've gone and saved my life again," I murmured, smiling slightly. "How am I ever going to repay you now?"

"Love, you already have." He kissed the ring on my finger, then squeezed my hand and packed up his instruments.

A low rumble began to fill the cavern, but I didn't realize its significance until Erik tensed and focused his gaze on the canal beyond the lake. "Track down this murderer, he must be found! Hunt out this animal who runs to ground!"The chant was faint, but growing in volume.

Realization struck, and my brief peace of mind was overwhelmed by a renewed state of alarm. The mob. The gendarmes. _Would they never leave him in peace? _Now I was frightened for his safety more than anything. He looked into my eyes, resigned.

"You'll be okay now. Whatever happens to me, that's all that matters."

"Erik, don't talk like that." I started to panic and grimaced at the renewed pain in my side. "I'm yours now. And don't you dare leave me again."

We both looked up as Raoul climbed the ledge. Even in the face of this latest predicament, he seemed pensive. He walked with a measured gait not suited to the urgent turn of events. I looked at him with confused and desperate eyes as he approached, and although Erik backed away respectfully, I knew he was similarly intrigued.

Raoul knelt beside me and took hold of my hand. He hesitated for a few moments, then finally spoke: "I want you to know that… well, that I could never love another woman as I love you," he said almost silently, bearing in mind the Phantom's proximity.

"…Raoul…"

"Please. It's true. God how I love you." Something in his tone made me fall silent.

"But… after what you did tonight… for him…" Raoul struggled for words, then abandoned the task. He leaned down and brushed his lips against my forehead.

I reached up to touch his face—a gesture of comfort—but abruptly he straightened and turned to Erik.

"You've got to get Christine out of here. Now."

The Phantom was visibly stunned.

Raoul looked back towards the portcullis and network of canals as the mob's chant grew louder, more frenzied. "Look… I'll hold them off for as long as I can."

"Raoul," I breathed.

He smiled sadly, then turned to Erik.

"Take her, forget me, forget all of this. Go now—don't let them find you."

Erik gazed at Raoul, then finally he nodded. His eyes shone with gratitude. He bundled me in the blanket and lifted me gently but quickly from the rock ledge.

"You can't ever come back here. They'll destroy this place looking for you, and they'll keep hunting you," Raoul paused and I could see the tears glistening in his eyes. "Please, go somewhere far away. Give her the life I wish I could."

Erik bowed his head. "Of course, De Chagny."

"Go now, go now!" Raoul said, his voice low but pitched with urgency. The gleam of torches was visible from just beyond the lake.

"Goodbye, Raoul," I said softly. "Thank you for being my friend."

Erik lowered me into his gondola, then stepped into position upon its stern. He poled it along the edge of the lake until a swift, dark channel opened before us. I looked back and held Raoul's broken gaze until he passed out of sight and then, with a heart aching with both sorrow and hope, I abandoned myself to the journey ahead.

"You alone can make my song take flight…" my angel murmured. And as we delved into the darkness, the music of the night—our music—echoed endlessly around us.

_Fin_


End file.
